I looked at him through the glass. “So did I.”
For a moment, his face changed. Something like guilt flickered there, brief and inconvenient.
Then it vanished.
“Emily, be practical. The house is too big for one person. Brittany needs space. The baby needs space. I can’t afford a separate place right now, and you know her apartment isn’t suitable.”
I almost admired the ease of it. He was not asking forgiveness. He was asking logistics.
“You planned to move my sister and your child into my home.”
“Our home.”
“My home,” I said.
His eyes narrowed.
Behind me, Martin took one step closer, not speaking.
Ethan noticed. “This is between husband and wife.”
“No,” I said. “It became bigger than that when you forged my signature.”
The color drained from his face.
There it was.
Not outrage.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“Emily—”
“You should go.”
He placed his palm flat against the glass. His wedding ring caught the light from the streetlamp.
“I know you’re hurt.”
“You don’t know what I am.”
His voice dropped. “If you make this legal, it will hurt everyone. Your parents. Brittany. Leo. Is that what you want?”
The baby’s name landed where he intended it to. Softly. Strategically.
I breathed through it.
“No,” I said. “That is why I’m going to do this carefully.”
“Do what carefully?”
“Protect what my grandmother left me.”
Something shifted in his eyes.
He knew.
Maybe not all of it, but enough.
“Your grandmother filled your head with paranoia,” he said.
“My grandmother gave me a key before anyone tried to lock me out.”